<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>fine line by peachesandlesbians</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874386">fine line</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesandlesbians/pseuds/peachesandlesbians'>peachesandlesbians</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Devil Wears Prada (2006)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, but everything will be alright I promise, look they’re all insecure and everything kinda blows up in their faces</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:01:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,337</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874386</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesandlesbians/pseuds/peachesandlesbians</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In hindsight, their argument was a long time coming. All three of them had their deep-rooted insecurities, but none of them expected it to blow up in their face like this. Never like this.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Emily Charlton/Andrea Sachs, Emily Charlton/Miranda Priestly, Emily Charlton/Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs, Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. falling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In hindsight, their argument was a long time coming. All three of them had their deep-rooted insecurities, but none of them expected it to blow up in their face like this. Never like this.</p><p> </p><p>“I get that I’m the bloody charity case, but you don’t have to toss it in my face with Miranda!” Emily spits out, her body coiled tight. All the blood rushes to her face as she struggles not to explode. </p><p> </p><p>“Em, I don’t understand.” Andy takes a step forward, eyes pleading. “Please tell me what’s going on, what happened? We didn’t do anything!”</p><p> </p><p><em> They didn’t do anything but be happy, </em> an annoying voice whispers to Emily. <em> Oh, but isn’t that exactly what’s wrong? </em></p><p> </p><p>“Oh, now you want to know! That’s fine. I’ll tell you.” She’s shaking. She doesn’t know why. “I saw your cute little note to Miranda, saying that she should come home early so you both could have <em> fun</em>. Alone. I get that maybe you wanted me in the beginning for a good fuck—”</p><p> </p><p>“Em. Come on. You know that’s not true.” Andy’s face is beginning to pale. </p><p> </p><p>“No, <em> Andrea</em>, I don’t. I know things change, but you don’t have to pretend you want me. You don’t, alright? I understand that I’m the incompetent, fat bed warmer, and I know I was never good enough for Miranda, but I thought—I hoped I was good enough for you.” And now Emily is crying, big gulping sobs that force their way out of her lithe body. She’s crying like the world is ending tomorrow, like that time she got the news that her mother was in the hospital, like she’s eighteen again and suffered her first real heartbreak. </p><p> </p><p>“Listen to me, Emily. You aren’t incompetent or fat or stupid, alright? You’re perfect, Em, perfect. And God”—her voice cracks—“you are enough. You’re more than enough for me, for both of us. Miranda <em> loves </em> you, goddamnit. I love you! Doesn’t that count for anything?” When Andy used to be Miranda’s assistant, at a time of crisis, she went into overdrive and tossed herself into fixing said crisis. But this time? Her mind is blank, and her words feel weak and too fragile. </p><p> </p><p>Emily chokes on her tears, trying to find the strength to say something like “I love you” back. But she can’t. “You don’t get it, Andy! You’ve always been the perfect assistant, and I was jealous then and now, alright? I've always been jealous because Miranda loved you faster than she did me, and you have no idea how that feels! To <em> always </em> be there for her, only to be tossed away. And I’m trying, Andy, I’m trying really hard to make her love me, but I’m the one left behind all the time! I’m the one left out! I’m the one who’s never enough!” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you get it, Emily? You’re not the only one to feel insecure! Christ, considering how the three of us got together, it would be a miracle if I was half the person you thought I was.” In the silence that follows, chaos reigns in Andy’s mind. How is it that they’ve reverted back to their squabbling competition over Miranda as if she was a prize? But, Andy realizes with growing horror, that’s what Emily seems to think their relationship is. And she couldn’t be farther from the truth. </p><p> </p><p>Emily shakes her head, gnawing on her bottom lip to stop from sobbing. “I hope you’re happy with her, Andy. I really do.”</p><p> </p><p>Emily spins around and stops at the sight of Miranda clutching the door frame, her face as white as her hair. Emily doesn’t know how long she’s been there, and she can’t find it in herself to ask. She has no more words to say. </p><p> </p><p>She storms past Miranda, down the stairs, barely registering the twin sets of blue eyes staring at her retreating back. The last thing she hears before the townhouse door shuts is, “Andrea, what—”</p><p> </p><p>Stupid <em> Andrea</em>. It always comes back to her. Andy bloody Sachs, the perfect assistant who does everything right, captures Miranda’s heart, fits into the Priestly family so well. Using her stupidly beautiful face and good heart and that bloody Midwestern kindness. Thinking about her now only serves as a sharp reminder that Andy would never be so ruthless. So <em> pathetic </em> and scared and, and—</p><p> </p><p>So taken by anger and fear that she blows up at the woman she loves.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Damn it all to hell.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>A familiar burning sensation prickles behind Emily’s eyelids and this time, away from prying eyes, she lets her tears fall. Perhaps, if she was a better person, if she was more like Andy, then she could have done something to stop this.</p><p> </p><p>But she is not Andrea Sachs. She is not enough. </p><p> </p><p>(She will never be Andrea Sachs. She will never be enough.)</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Andy doesn’t know what to say. Or think. All that comes out is a quiet calling, a plea for someone to hear. “Em . . .” Andy stretches out a hand towards Emily’s retreating back, even though she knows it’s a futile gesture.</p><p> </p><p>She balls her hand into a first, hovers, then lowers. Emily isn’t coming back.</p><p> </p><p>For one moment, time seems to stop. She will remember this moment for the rest of her life, she thinks. The ghastly expression on Miranda’s face—a stunned, horrified dawning in her eyes as if a car with glaring bright headlines was speeding directly toward her. The way Emily’s navy Vivienne Westwood blouse ripples behind her as she flees. The light shifting away, causing a shadow to drop into the room. This one moment, when words abandon Andy. </p><p> </p><p>Andy tries her best to be a good person. She really does. It’s part of the reason why her loves—mainly Miranda—are so attracted to her, she knows. In their eyes, she is courageous and defiant, but sometimes, she falters. Like now.</p><p> </p><p>Andy does not listen to Miranda’s frantic questioning. She does not stay. </p><p> </p><p>She runs.</p><p> </p><p>And not toward Emily, one of her greatest loves, and not into Miranda’s arms, her other greatest love, but away. Away to the closest bar where she tries to find solace in the bottom of a glass of brandy. </p><p> </p><p>She does not find it. She does not find any peace that night. </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Miranda doesn’t know how exactly she got on her knees, but touching the floor helps steady her as her world comes crumbling down. She drags her head up, looking toward the door, and for one heart-stopping moment, Andrea is walking back, asking why she’s kneeling, a smile on her face. But Miranda blinks, and her mirage is gone. There’s no one there. She’s alone.</p><p> </p><p>Running footsteps make Miranda look up from her kneeling position, and she only has one moment to prepare for two bundles that slam into her. “Mom! Mom!” Cassidy buries her head in Miranda’s neck, and she immediately feels dampness wetting her Dolce &amp; Gabbana blouse. She exhales and rubs the back of her daughters’ heads as they both try to fight back their sobs. Although they seemed to have matured into their teenage selves so quickly, they’ll always remain her baby girls at heart.</p><p> </p><p>“I saw Emily leave. Why is she leaving?” Cassidy pulls back so Miranda can see her tear-filled blue eyes. “Is she gonna come back?”</p><p> </p><p>“Bobbsey, I’m not sure exactly what happened. Can you tell me if you heard anything, please?” She tries to focus on wiping away Cassidy’s tears instead of the pain that shoots through her when she hears <em> I saw Emily leave.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Her words only add to the girls’ crying, and Caroline is the one to respond. “They were so <em> mean </em> to each other, Mom! I hated it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mean? What do you mean, sweetheart?” Miranda’s thumb stops moving.</p><p> </p><p>“Emily was saying stuff like she knew you loved Andy more than her, and you both just felt bad for her, and you thought she was stupid and fat and she could never live up to your expectations, and it was bad, Mommy!” The moniker Caroline so rarely uses just makes Miranda ache more. And besides—</p><p> </p><p>“She said <em> what</em>?” </p><p> </p><p>Now Cassidy is trying to explain, but it only makes Miranda feel worse. “And Andy—Andy was crying so much, and she was saying that Emily needed to calm down because none of what she was saying was true. But Andy got sorta upset—”</p><p> </p><p>“Upset?”</p><p> </p><p>“—and she was saying that she was worried too, and then Em yelled that she didn’t get it, but Andy yelled back something that didn’t make much sense.”</p><p> </p><p>“What did Andrea yell, Bobbsey?” Andrea, raise her voice? She never did that. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.</p><p> </p><p>“Andy said that considering how you all got together, it would be a miracle if she didn’t feel insecure.” </p><p> </p><p>“But what did she mean, Mom? How did you all get together?” Caroline asks, leaning back into Miranda’s arms. </p><p> </p><p>But Miranda can’t answer her. She shakes her head, her heart clenching tighter and together as her mind works frantically. What could Andrea possibly mean? The night they decided to try being in a relationship was a night filled with tears and bold declarations of love; in short, it was one of the most healing nights of Miranda’s life. Could it be that Andrea changed her mind and decided that she regretted everything?</p><p> </p><p>Or worse—could it be that it was <em> her </em> fault Andrea and Emily were fighting? Was she too harsh with her red pen while editing Andrea’s article the other night? Or did she make another throwaway comment about Emily’s style? No, she couldn’t have, Emily was . . . <em>Emily</em>, gorgeous and bold and everything beautiful in the world. </p><p> </p><p>Miranda tries to take a deep breath but chokes when the events of tonight come crashing down on her. Emily got into an argument with Andrea and left. So did Andrea. They both left her. </p><p> </p><p>Already, Miranda can feel the ice around her heart harden. Page Six was right; she was the Ice Queen. Being pathetically heartbroken was out of the question. It was her right to be angry. She should be. After all, Emily and Andrea worked their magic on her, luring her into a false sense of security, of gentle Sunday mornings, of whispered love confessions, of dreams of being a family, only to destroy it all. </p><p> </p><p>She hates them. </p><p> </p><p>No. Miranda’s hands shake. That’s not true. That’s not true at all. She loves them so much. The only person she hates is herself. </p><p> </p><p>She was weak for believing that she deserved something good. Something that could make her feel whole. Something like hope, like love, and something like forever. </p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “What am I now?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What am I now? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What if I'm someone I don't want around? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm fallin’ again  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I'm fallin’ again  </em>
</p><p><em> I'm fallin'” — Falling, </em>Harry Styles</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i'm sorry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. fine line</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>How does someone cope and recover from one of the worst nights in their life? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Emily doesn’t cry. That’s how she copes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, that’s not true. She cries in the taxi back to her apartment, but that’s it. She doesn’t cry when she looks at her wrist to see the silver Westwood bracelet Andy bought for their one-month anniversary; she doesn’t cry when she arrives at her quiet, cold, <em> lonely </em> apartment; she doesn’t cry before going to bed as she remembers every horrid remark she said, and she certainly doesn’t cry when there are no calls or text messages from Miranda or Andy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead, she cleans. Emily wipes down every piece of furniture with a vicious zeal, opens all the windows, dusts, vacuums, and organizes her wardrobe. Twice. And when her apartment is so clean it looks brand new, Emily makes herself a cup of tea, plops down on an uncomfortable chair, and stares at the wall. Her leather sofa is at Miranda’s house, along with her books and trinkets, and there’s nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(She does not cry. She will not cry.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy wakes up with a groan, shielding her eyes from the rising sun. She props herself up, looks at the foreign sheets and for one heart-stopping moment, thinks she’s had some drunken fling. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But no. Bits and pieces of last night come back to her. The bitter taste of vodka. The phone call to Nigel and how she sobbed like a child and asked him to pick her up from some second-rate bar. Miranda. Emily. Their argument. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy sighs and lets herself flop back onto the bed. It was much easier being drunk and forgetting than remembering. It hurt less, too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Morning, sunshine!” The note of cheer in Nigel’s voice makes her pull the covers back up over her head. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At least it was a Saturday. No one would be going to work, courtesy of Miranda taking the weekends off to spend time with—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Go away, Nigel.” Perhaps Andy sounded more bitter than usual, but her morning was not off to a good start. The last thing she needed was Nigel poking and prodding around where he wasn’t needed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t even want coffee?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Coffee? Now you’re talking.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They sip their coffees in silence and stare out the window, unfortunately into the sun’s rays. “I can’t believe your guest bedroom faces the sun. That’s a horrible way to wake up.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, well, better my guests than me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They laugh, and for a moment, Andy feels alright. Not great, mind you, but alright. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you going to tell me what happened last night?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just like that, her good mood evaporates. “Nige . . .”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No offense, Six, but you look like a model who got into a fight with another model because of a boy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That bad, huh?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And that model lost and her mascara was smeared all over her face—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jeez, Nigel, I get it!” Andy can’t stop a snort from coming out. Nigel smirks but quickly sobers as he looks at Andy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Did you get into a fight with Miranda?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Kind of. How’d you know that?” She narrows her eyes at him. This conversation is veering too close to too personal right now. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know everything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nigel.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Relax, Six. Miranda just emailed me five times throughout the night, asking how things were going with <em> Men’s Runway</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And called twice. She managed to drop your name into both conversations and that she had no idea where you were.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They both know Miranda isn’t the person to “check-up” on Nigel, preferring to let him come on his own accord if he needed advice. After Paris, their relationship improved day by day, and that meant trusting him with the head position of the new <em> Runway </em> magazine geared toward men. Andy has absolutely zero involvement in <em> Runway</em>, so there’s no reason for Miranda to weave her into the conversation unless something was wrong. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Which it was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, Six?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Andy looks into Nigel’s eyes, she expects to see some amusement at her hungover, messed-up self. Maybe an<em> I told you so </em> look. But she doesn’t find it. There’s kindness, instead, and compassion that makes her want to cry all of a sudden. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Emily and I got into a fight. The worst one yet. Miranda overheard. Everything went to hell after that.” That pretty much summed up her night. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Me too, Nige.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy squints into her cup. Nigel’s coffee isn’t that bad, actually. “Hey, what kind of beans do you use? This tastes pretty good.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They love you, you know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>What</em>?” Andy doesn’t mean to sound so surprised or accusing but man, talk about a non-sequitur.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You heard me.” Nigel roots her to the spot with a gaze that looks eerily similar to Miranda’s. A penetrating, honest stare. “They love you, Six. No matter what you said or what Emily said, they both love you to hell and back. Hell, you could murder someone in front of them and they would still think you put the stars in the night sky.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Nigel</em>.” Andy tries to ignore the blush that rises on her cheeks, but she’s not that successful. “Come on, be serious.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I am. This will all blow over by tomorrow, trust me.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t think so.” She sighs and glances down at her coffee cup again. “What I said … what we both said, it was all true. That’s the worst part.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps the specific accusations weren’t all true, but the resentment fueling their words were. The fear and anger were all there and god—was their whole relationship doomed from the start? Did they have the shakiest foundation possible? They were doing alright, but there were so many questions and answers Andy needed to say. And maybe she would never get a chance to talk to them again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy doesn’t know she’s crying until Nigel takes a seat next to her and kindly lets her weep into his Armani suit. But it’s fine. She’s fine. She’ll cry her heart out and wipe away her tears and move on. That’s the plan. She’s going to be fine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(She repeats that mantra to herself, but why does she not believe it?)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Miranda is going to work on a Saturday. That hasn’t happened in four months and two weeks. Usually, she would be home with all her girls, but well. Look how that turned out. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a quick shake of her head, Miranda glares at the proofs displayed on her desk. With her new-found free time and the silence of her office, she should be focusing but the quiet weighs on her. It’s too oppressive, and no matter how much noise she makes, the stillness is a reminder of how alone she is. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>All her employees started taking the weekends off when they noticed she did too. Miranda wasn’t stupid; she knew she was becoming a bit laxer, but honestly, was it too much to ask for one employee to be at work to get her coffee?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Incompetence always surrounds her, it seems. Even with her romantic partners. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now that wasn’t exactly fair. After all, Emily made it crystal clear how badly Miranda treated her, even though that wasn’t true, she loved that stupid girl—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No. Miranda grits her teeth, forcing her mind back to the pictures in front of her. Under no circumstances was she going to think about Emily and Andrea, not with her rare time alone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her determination single-handedly fuels her to flip through the pictures with few thoughts of Emily and Andrea—the best she could do under the current circumstances. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Because really, she sees them in everything she does. She sees Emily’s blue eyes in the teal of a model’s dress. She sees flashes of Andrea’s charming smile in the light that’s oh-so-carefully reflected in a shot. When Miranda looks up and around, she sees the violets Emily gifted her. Carefully laid on her couch is Andrea’s sweater she forgot one late night. They are with her everywhere. She is drowning.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Miranda lurches from her chair and takes a few stumbling steps toward the window. After a moment of hesitation, she takes Andrea’s sweater in her trembling hands and holds it up to her face as she looks out the window. She can still smell Andrea’s sweater. It is her only source of comfort as the realization that <em> she is alone, she is lonely </em> comes crashing down on her. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy sighs as she looks up at Emily’s apartment. She hasn’t been here in a long time. The last time she was here was before they all moved into Miranda’s house. She thought the last visit was goodbye, but apparently not. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Hey, don’t chicken out now. Go kiss and makeup with your ladies. Good luck. </em> A quick glance to her phone reveals that it’s Nigel, and Andy can’t help but chuckle. He had given her the best pep-talk in her life after her breakdown and asked her if she was willing to let go of Emily and Miranda. The answer was a resounding <em> hell no.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Which is why she walks toward Emily’s door and after a moment’s hesitation, knocks. She wipes her clammy hands on her skirt and rehearses her speech in her head once more, trying to ignore how hard her heart’s pounding. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The door swings open, and Emily is there. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy stares at her like she’s a mirage. In a way, she is. She’s dressed in her pajamas even though it’s early afternoon, and her face is completely bare. There is nothing to mask the absolute shock that crosses her face when she sees Andy. </p>
<p>She’s breathtakingly beautiful. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A-Andy?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah,” she breathes out. “Yeah, it’s me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can I come in?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh! Yeah, yeah, come in!” Emily steps to the side, still staring at Andy as if she can’t believe she’s in her apartment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy makes her way to one of the rigid chairs and gingerly takes a seat. Emily does, too, and grips the edge of her seat before scooting forward slightly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Their knees touch. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So . . .” Andy watches as Emily starts fiddling with her hair, probably wishing she would’ve combed it at the least, even though Andy (and Miranda) told her it didn’t matter how she wore her hair; she was still so beautiful in their eyes. She didn’t believe that for a good while. Along with other things, apparently. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Emily—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look, Andy. If you’re here to-to scold me or get an apology from me, then maybe you shouldn’t have come here. I’m not … I said everything I needed to say. Alright? So just go back to Miranda. I’ll be fine.” Emily grips her seat until her knuckles turn white and leans even more forward. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy frowns. An apology would be nice, but she understands why Emily is acting so standoffish and prickly. When disaster strikes, or when she’s scared, she shuts down in an attempt to protect herself and goes on the offensive. She’s quite like Miranda in that way. “I’m not here to do any of those things, Em. I just wanted to talk, okay?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah. Okay.” She exhales and slumps back against her chair. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is it alright if I start off first?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy shifts in her chair and before she loses her nerve, reaches forward to hold one of Emily’s hands. Startled eyes flick up to meet hers, and Andy gives (what she hopes is) a calming smile. It must work, for Emily squeezes her hand before glancing away. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want to hear you call yourself fat again.” She watches as Emily lowers her head, her hair falling to hide her face. “Ever. You’re not incompetent, either. You’re the best damn assistant that ever graced the halls of <em> Runway</em>.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Emily lets out a watery chuckle. “I’m not sure—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Those are two untrue accusations now,” Andy blithely continues, “and I’m not sure why or how you started thinking along those lines. Do you know why I fell in love with you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Emily mutely shakes her head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I fell in love with you because of your drive. You are so passionate, especially with Miranda and I, and I can see you toss yourself into everything you do. I know it gets too much for you, but I take care of you. I do, don’t I?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A jerky nod. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s cute when you get so excited that you keep chattering and waving your hands about. You’re honest, too, blunt in that charming English way. You’re real. You have a brilliant mind that I’m in awe of constantly, and you have the most wonderful smile I’ve ever seen. And what you said about not being good enough? That’s ridiculous. You’re enough. You’re more than enough for me, alright?” Andy doesn’t realize she’s quivering until Emily stands up and awkwardly hugs her from their mismatched position. Andy jumps up and holds her as close as she can. Silent tears run down Emily’s face, and now she’s the one who shakes. They both cling to each other like each other offers the only protection from a storm. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You matter. You matter to me,” Andy whispers into Emily’s hair, pressing a reverent kiss there. “Okay, Em? Talk to me. Talk to Miranda. We can work this out. Please. I love you, you’re enough, I love you. ”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Andy.” Emily sobs into her shirt. “Andy. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, forgive me, please. I’m so stupid—”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shh, there’s no need for that. Just come home, please?” Andy buries her face more into Emily’s hair. It’s too much. Their contact, their aching need to be loved hurts too much. But still, it’s not enough. She needs more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I will. I will, only if M-Miranda lets me back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course she will. She <em> loves </em> you, just as much as I do.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I said horrible things to her, to you. And I love her, I really do, but I’m scared, Andy.” Emily looks up at her, allowing Andy to see the vulnerability in her ocean eyes for the first time since she’s entered the apartment. There’s a fear of being rejected, and Andy takes a second to look at her love. She is overwhelmed with this fire of emotion for Emily that blazes out of nowhere. <em> I will take care of you. For the rest of my life, I will take care of you. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s alright, Em. But we’re gonna go home and we’re gonna talk this out and everything’ll be alright, I promise. We need to have a serious discussion.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Andy . . .”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I promise. Everything will be fine. More than fine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay. Okay, I believe you.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy nods and straightens her shoulders, ready to leave, but Emily is <em> there</em>, desperately covering her face with feather-light kisses. Her thumbs come up, caressing Andy’s face like she might disappear any second as she presses close to Andy. She understands Emily’s anguish and responds equally as fiercely, pressing Emily even closer, kissing the sides of her fingers and whispering “I love you” constantly. Andy will not let Emily go, she vows. Not again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Miranda is still in the same spot when Andy and Emily barge into her office. They did go home first, only to be met with two pairs of accusing blue eyes, not three. They were also met with a diatribe on how <em> furious </em> the twins were that descended into sadness. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “It’s not fair.” Cassidy had scowled. “Everyone leaves us. And no one tells us why, either.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “Yeah. You left us.” Caroline leaned into Cassidy, taking her hand. “You both promised you wouldn’t, and you did.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was a conversation full of apologies and reassurances from Andy and Emily as they tried to wipe away the girls’ tears. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “We promise, we’re not gonna leave ever again. Things will be better.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “This time, it’s for keeps,” Emily mumbled, curling a strand of hair around her finger. “But girls, I really am sorry for yelling and leaving.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “Never again, though, right?” Cassidy glared, almost daring Emily to say no. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> In response, a true smile bloomed on Emily’s face. “Never again, Cass.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But that was then. And Miranda, staring at them with a flabbergasted expression, is now. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy opens her mouth and closes it when she sees Miranda clutching her long-forgotten sweater. It’s not exactly designer or particularly attractive, which is one of the reasons she bought it. It’s soft and snuggly and an odd shade out of blue, but that just contributes to its charm. However, that’s no excuse for the way Miranda grips onto one of the least fashionable pieces in her life—let alone inhale its scent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hi.” Andy shrugs, offering a tentative smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A pause. “Andrea?” Then, when Miranda turns her gaze to the right, “Emily?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Emily’s mouth quirks upward in what Andy deems is a “true Brit” way. “Hello.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well. This is a surprise.” Miranda looks down at her hands, pink tinging her cheeks a moment later. She carefully places Andy’s sweater back on the couch and glances away. “I was just examining the quality of it. It does need a wash.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy can’t stop her eyebrow from raising but nods. “Right.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, what is this little gathering about?” And just like that, Miranda dons her editor persona and straightens up, removing all signs of embarrassment from her face. She eyes Andy and Emily the way she looks at pictures of a shoot—analytic, cool, and ready to attack even the smallest fault.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Andy doesn’t like it. Not at all. She doesn’t like the way Miranda seems to look through them and not really <em> at </em> them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Emily steps forward first, making Andy’s open mouth drop further. But Emily keeps her eyes on Miranda and strangely, she doesn’t feel scared. She’s ready to be honest and vulnerable, even in the face of Miranda’s wrath. “Miranda, how much did you hear last night?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s no change in her expression. “Enough.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Miranda. I shouldn’t have dumped that on Andy and left.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, you shouldn’t have. Are you here to grovel and leave again?” The biting words don’t faze Emily in the slightest, and she moves a step closer. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No. Well, grovel, yes.” A flash of Emily’s self-deprecating smile. “But I think we should talk.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Talk,” Miranda repeated disdainfully. “You’ve done a lot of that. And what you said—it was cruel and silly. Untrue, too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t doubt that it was cruel, but it wasn’t silly. Not to me.” Emily reaches out to cup Miranda’s face and—Andy is happy to note—she lets her. In fact, Miranda leans into the touch. Barely, but still. She does. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Perhaps not,” which is Miranda’s way of saying<em> I agree with you</em>. “But”—and here Miranda falters enough for Emily to caress her cheek—“I wasn’t angry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was—” She cuts herself off. “You left. You and Andrea left, and I thought you were never coming back. And I was sure you hated me. It seemed like my failings in my past relationships applied to this one, too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, Miranda.” The gentle way Emily kisses Miranda makes Andy’s heart clench. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mostly my tendency to overthink, along with my … feelings of inadequacy.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Miranda shakes her head, and a fire lights up in her eyes. “Now, you know how much I hate repeating myself, so listen closely. Don’t think that I don’t notice and value your loyalty. Don’t think your past affects your standing in my eyes. And don’t you ever think that you’re not enough for me.” Miranda’s eyes are steely blue, but the intensity Emily sees betrays her calm exterior. “If I didn’t want you, you would unquestionably know. But I love you, understand? You are mine, now, no matter what. My Emily.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yours,” Emily chokes out just before Miranda presses their lips together. It’s a bruising, passionate, almost desperate kiss, and yet, they both find solace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And you.” Miranda turns her gaze to Andy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, Miranda?” She teases, coming closer, her heart singing. There will be no more tears or heartache, not today.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t you <em> ever </em> leave again. Both of you.” It comes out as a command, but Andy can hear the fear underlying her tone. She kisses Miranda’s cheek gently and whispers, “Never again, I promise.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Emily nods in silent agreement. She’ll never run away again. This is the only place she would want to be in the world. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Things will be different now,” Andy murmurs, breaking the quiet. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Miranda sniffs and decides to ignore her use of <em> “things”</em>, this one time. “Yes, well, I certainly hope so.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hope. Miranda once said to her “hope, my god, I live on it.” And at that moment, Andy decides she’ll live on hope too. The path forward won’t be easy, but she has to have hope. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Emily turns to meet Andy’s eyes, and Andy can’t help but smile once she sees the tenderness (and dare she say <em> love </em>) that blooms. Yes, she has hope that everything will be alright.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “We'll be a fine line </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> We'll be a fine line </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> We'll be alright </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> We'll be alright </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> We'll be a fine line </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> We'll be a fine line </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> We'll be alright (alright, alright, alright) </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> We'll be alright </em>
</p>
<p><em> We'll be alright” — Fine Line, </em>Harry Styles</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>